Classic Poem

You never told me.
No, I never told you:
But how can anyone tell anything?
Even now, it wasn't from my words you learned it—
For what are words but beads without a string?

I've spilt a deal of clattering words about you;
And colours here and there have caught your eye;
But most of them have rolled away, unheeded;
And in dark dusty corners still they lie.

I never told you. Oh, I tried to tell you!
Yet, how can anyone tell anything?
Words are but words, and spilt to little purpose,
Unless the listener threads them on a string.